


Performance Improvement

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Bondage, Caning, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Desk Sex, Dom Jonathan Sims, Dom/sub, Frottage, Impact Play, M/M, Orgasm Control, Power Dynamics, Sub Martin Blackwood, Wingfic, honor bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Martin's performance reviews are already a bit unorthodox. But his latest one turns out to be even more so than usual.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 140





	Performance Improvement

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to libbertyjibbit for the beta!
> 
> Set very vaguely during S1.

Martin was early, this time.

Probably too early, and he really hoped that wouldn’t anger Jon. His fingertips brushed the cool metal of the doorknob, hesitant as he considered the prospect. He spread his wings slightly, lifting them to act as a sort of shield. Not that they did anything to conceal him, but at least no one passing by could see his face.

There shouldn’t be anyone passing by, this late on a Friday, but that didn’t mean Martin didn’t feel a thrill of fear as he slipped inside Jon’s office. Obviously it wasn’t a problem that he was here. Jon had told him to be here. Ordered it, drawing himself up to his full height as he glared up at Martin in a way that made Martin pull his wings tight to his back, desperate to look smaller. All while Tim shot him a sympathetic look. Christ, Martin hoped he hadn’t noticed how red Martin had been.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he took a steadying breath as he approached Jon’s desk. It was clear of everything except Martin’s employee file, just as it should be. Next to it, there was a small folding stool, the flat surface empty and waiting for Martin to do as he’d been instructed.

Even knowing he’d been told to do this, that he’d done this before, he still dithered. Taking his time to very carefully remove his shoes and socks, tucking them under the stool, and fretting over whether it was better to remove his trousers or shirt first. He settled on his trousers; they were simpler to remove. The belt went on the desk, while his trousers and underwear went onto the stool.

He shivered as his fingers found the zipper on the back of his shirt. Already mostly undressed, it seemed silly, but there was a finality to removing it. Particularly without Jon here to hassle him, rolling his eyes and sighing and telling Martin to hurry up, that he had better things to do than wait around for Martin to improve his lax performance.

If Martin was honest, he didn’t think Jon actually had anything better to do. If he did, Martin doubted he’d be doing this, their little Friday ‘performance evaluations,’ or whatever Jon was calling them now. He hadn’t been terribly consistent, but it wasn’t like Martin really cared about the name. Or the goal. All he cared about was that they keep happening.

The best way to make sure the meetings continued was to do exactly as Jon asked. Don’t question him, don’t ask what this was or where it was going. Just to enjoy everything Jon was willing to give him, and god, it was so much more than Martin could have ever hoped for.

His teeth dug into his lip as he pushed the memories of their previous meetings aside, trying to will his cock out of its already half-hard state as he bent over the desk. Jon didn’t like it when he got hard before they got started. And Martin wanted so badly to be good for him, to earn that tight smile, the gentle touch gracing his stinging skin.

Another thing he really, really needed to not think about, as he turned back to Jon’s desk and leaned over it, bracing his arms on the surface and raising his wings high. He needed to focus on something not sexy, and not Jon. A statement, or his research, but no, that only brought him back to Jon. Maybe if he ran through his errands, the laundry he needed to do. Except that didn’t work either, his thoughts jumping to the shirt splashed with Jon’s come that he hadn’t washed yet. Which was incredibly weird, he knew it, and was also just making him harder.

Before he could try something else, he heard the telltale creak of footsteps.

When the door opened, Martin kept his head down. He wasn’t sure that was what Jon would want now, but he’d found that generally Jon preferred deference to any potential challenge. Also, Martin preferred this position, so that Jon couldn’t as easily see how flushed his face was.

“You’re early,” Jon said, as he closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. Martin tensed, wings and arms trembling with the effort to stay still, teeth digging into his lip as he forced himself to wait, to not ask whether that was a good thing.

As if knowing no clarification would be worse than censure, Jon flipped open the file, and Martin squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from taking a peek. His heart pounded in his chest, and even though he hadn’t been holding the position long, his wings burned with the effort from holding them still, of not giving into the nervous twitches and flicks he normally was prone to.

Still, despite all his efforts, he could help but start when Jon’s wing brushed his bare leg. An accident, it had to be, contact coming only from their proximity and Jon’s own nervous tics. But instead of pulling away, Jon only brought his wing into greater contact, a touch Jon couldn’t not notice. Which meant it had to be deliberate.

Martin’s breath caught, and any hope of stifling his arousal was lost as Jon spread his wing further, until it rested across both of Martin’s calves. His fingernails dug into his palms as he tried to stay quiet, but it was anything but easy when Jon began to lift his wing, sleek feathers skating up Martin’s thighs and tickling the curve of his arse.

This hadn’t happened before, such an intimate caress. One Jon continued even as Martin struggled for hair, struggled to slow the pounding of his heart that was so loud Jon had to hear it. His legs trembled, and his wings fluttered lightly, a movement Jon couldn’t not notice. Too focused on the papers in Martin’s file, or on his own precise movements, his wing rising again to press against Martin’s arse fully.

“You’ve been doing better, Martin. Which means our—” He coughed. “—arrangement is working. And I don’t see any reason to halt your progress, do you?”

“No?” Martin nearly laughed. Did Jon seriously think he’d want to stop? “I mean, no, definitely not, whatever you think is—” His babbling was stopped by the familiar tap of a cane, a reminder of exactly why he was here. “No.”

“Good,” Jon said, his chair creaking as he stood. “Arms?”

Martin took a shaky breath, and adjusted his position so that his chest was pressed to the desk. His arms he positioned behind his back, around his wings just like Jon wanted. A dull thud of metal hitting wood, and then Martin felt the smooth leather of the belt against his skin, as Jon looped it around his arms, and buckled it. Nothing he couldn’t escape from if necessary, but that wasn’t the point.

Like this, it was impossible to lower his wings completely, though he could certainly move them below where they were. But much like the belt itself, the position wasn’t intended to force compliance. It was a reminder, each brush of his own feathers against his arms a warning to pull back, to hold still.

“How many do you think today?”

The cane tapped against the desk, and Martin’s breath caught with it. The first time, he’d been non-committal, telling Jon to decide what was best. It hadn’t been the answer Jon wanted, and their session had been short because of it. Since then, Martin had always made sure he had a response, even if he knew Jon wouldn’t always heed it.

“Sixteen.”

Martin waited with bated breath for Jon’s response. The number wasn’t so high Jon would consider it a joke, or so low he’d immediately reject it as insufficient. Even if he increased or decreased it, it was likely he’d pick something close.

“That’s reasonable,” Jon said after a moment. “But we’ll do it in two parts. Eight now, and eight more after I finish reviewing your file.”

Martin shifted uncomfortably, glad Jon was behind him so he couldn’t see Martin’s face clearly, and desperately wishing he could lower a wing to cover it. To hide the naked delight at Jon’s words, that the strange intimacy that had begun to grow between them might stretch out for minutes more. Because Jon didn’t want Martin out of his sight; he wanted to shape Martin into something that they both found worthy.

“Yes. That’s, it sounds great,” Martin said hastily, when he realized Jon was waiting for his response.

“Perfect,” Jon said. It was the only warning Martin had, before the first strike fell.

Martin cried out as it fell across the midpoint of his arse, biting into the sensitive skin. Never once had Jon worked up to it, never once had he held back. And Martin loved it, that Jon knew he could take this, that he wanted to take it, barely giving him a second to catch his breath before the next blow.

This one came slightly higher, but just as hard. It didn’t cross the first, a small mercy Martin knew wouldn’t last. For all his love of precision, Jon wasn’t very good at it. Something Martin didn’t dare comment on, for fear Jon might try to fix it, or stop this entirely if he thought his own performance wasn’t sufficient. The third strike crossed the first two, and Jon cursed softly, a sound barely caught over his own cut off moan.

“Wings, Martin,” Jon said, emphasizing his words with a flick of the cane to Martin’s right wing.

“Sorry, sorry.” The words tumbled breathlessly from his lips, as he struggled for that distant control, drawing his wings higher even as his muscles strained. “I’ll do better.”

“I know you will,” Jon said softly. Martin felt the brush of his wing along the side of his leg, and then Jon stepped back, and brought down the cane again.

This time, Martin kept as much of his focus as possible on his aching wings, keeping them high exactly as Jon wanted. All while trying to keep his hips away from the desk, trying to ignore the way his cock throbbed even untouched.

The fifth blow came across the top of his thighs, dragging a high, breathy cry from his lips. He shifted slightly, holding his wings stiff as he did, trying to get more distance from the desk. Jon still hadn’t commented on his erection, which might be a good thing. Or a very, very bad one.

There was a pause, and Martin heard Jon mumble something, though it was hard to hear over the rushing of blood in his ears, and his own labored breath. But sure enough, the sixth blow fell soon enough, followed by the seventh, angled across the base of Martin’s arse.

Finally, Jon struck the last for now, diagonally across his arse, crossing most of the previous marks. Martin’s fingers dug hard into his arms, and he gritted his teeth as a whine emerged from his throat, his balls tight and cock throbbing, on the edge of coming. But he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t disappoint Jon. He’d wait until Jon allowed it.

Silence hung between them. Jon didn’t move back to his chair, but he didn’t move to hit Martin again. Martin took slow, deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut as he strained to hear any hint of what Jon might be doing. There was a rustle of fabric, and then he felt the brush of feathers against his inflamed skin, so gentle he nearly cried out again.

“Very good. Are you ready to discuss your recent performance?”

“Yes,” Martin said, his voice hoarse.

Jon made a noise of agreement, and only then did Martin hear Jon take his seat, setting the cane aside and turning to his file.

The review itself was bizarrely mundane, and only seemed to get more so each time they did it. Jon droning through minor corrections, promising to send Martin this or that by email. And each time, it included more and more praise. Martin didn’t think he was doing anything different, not really. Every good thing Jon highlighted was something he’d already done. Perhaps now in a slightly different format, the document with different margins or an easier to navigate index. But Martin didn’t truly think that was what had changed.

As Jon continued to speak, Martin felt the careful brush of his wing again, and nearly groaned from that alone. If Jon kept that up, he’d be doomed. But Jon seemed determined, repeating his earlier movements, wing skating up his legs to his arse. But so much worse than before, because each brush of his feathers tickled the stinging marks, making Martin’s cock jump, his wings trembling with the strain of remaining still.

None of it was helped by the fact he had little to focus on aside from Jon’s lovely voice. The low warmth of it twined with the gentle touch of his wing, painful and wonderful, sending deadly sparks to Martin’s cock. Did Jon know what his voice did to Martin? He had to know about the wing, at least. But the combination was nearly unbearable.

“Now, let me just note some things down,” Jon said, wing pressed firmly against Martin’s arse as he finally broke his stream of words, “and then we can continue.”

“Of course. Absolutely.” Martin took a deep breath, waiting for Jon to pull his wing away. But he didn’t. Instead, he did something so much better, and so much worse.

He barely stopped himself from flapping violently when Jon’s fingers ran lightly over the inside of his right wing, sending a wave of new pleasure through Martin. Jon didn’t comment on the slip, and he didn’t stop, continuing to stroke along it, fingers worming their way under his feathers to brush the sensitive skin underneath. Despite his words, Jon didn’t seem to be writing anything down. Not that Martin could really spare the attention for that now.

Because Jon wasn’t stopping, his other hand instead moving to rub at the sensitive juncture where Martin’s wings met his back. Martin nearly sobbed as Jon continued to massage the downy feathers there, somehow seeming to know the exact place to push, to dig his fingers in. His cock throbbed again; there’d be no way he’d be able to hold back, if Jon didn’t stop.

“Jon,” Martin said, his voice climbing into a whine. A sound he hated, but he couldn’t manage anything else. “I can’t, if you don’t stop, I can’t—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Jon said, his palm pressed flat to Martin’s wing, stilling for a moment as he waited for Martin’s answer.

Martin could lie. He should lie, if he didn’t want to come all over Jon’s desk.

“No.”

His breath caught as he felt Jon move, adjusting to stand behind him. The position pressed Jon’s body to his, and he could feel Jon’s hard cock through his trousers. The fabric tugged at the welts on his arse as Jon leaned over him, breath hot on Martin’s sweat damp skin.

Before Martin could ask Jon what he was doing, he felt teeth dig into the juncture of skin and feathers on his back. Pleasure jolted through him with an intensity he’d never felt before, and despite his best efforts, he jerked forward. He was stopped by the surprisingly strong wiry arm wrapping around his waist, the bite relaxing to allow a command to be spoken into his back.

“Don’t.”

Martin couldn’t manage a reply, particularly not when Jon began to suck on the bite, then moved to nip and lick and suck next to it. Martin stretched his arms to give Jon better access, and forced his wings higher. He felt something like a smile against his skin, and then the return of teeth at the newly exposed area.

For a minute, he thought he might still make it, enduring the heady pleasure that Jon was pouring through his body. But then Jon’s hands return to his wings, stroking along the point they met each other, rubbing insistently even as he rubbed his own cock against Martin’s sore arse. He moaned, and pushed back into Jon, who responded with a small noise of his own. Then he pressed harder, and bit down on the skin one final time.

Another lance of pleasure shot through Martin, straight to his cock. He clung desperately to the thought he needed to be good for Jon, but it was too much, the sensation overwhelming him even as he tried to struggle against it. His wings flapped wildly, and Jon pulled abruptly back as Martin came onto his desk.

Silence fell, as Martin tried to collect his nerves, his senses, his thoughts in the wake of what was probably the best orgasm he’d ever had. And still a failure, and oh god, Jon would be so angry.

“I’m sorry, Jon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t—”

Before he could continue, a hand gripped his hair, tugging him off the desk and forcing him to his knees. Like this, with Jon behind him and his arms still bound, Martin’s only choice was to force his wings at an even more awkward angle, even as the muscles burned and trembled with the come down from his orgasm. But he wouldn’t disobey. He waited for Jon’s command.

“Clean it up,” Jon said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

It took Martin a second to understand, staring blankly at the white streaked drawers before him. But before Jon could repeat himself, it clicked, and Martin leaned forward eagerly and began to like his own come off Jon’s desk. The last wasn’t exactly pleasant, dust and come mingling in his mouth, and he couldn’t say he made a habit of consuming that sort of thing. But none of that mattered. Not when Jon’s hand still gripped his hair tightly, urging him forward.

When it was clean, Jon released him, and Martin sat back on his heels, wincing as the sweat from his legs stung the welts on his arse. He dared his first proper look at Jon, staring up to find him wide eyed, his black wings lifted slightly, as if prepared for flight. His lips were parted, red and wet. From kissing and biting and sucking Martin. God. He’d never be able to get the image out of his head. He’d never want to think of anything else again.

His eyes drifted lower, and with a start he realized what the damp spot forming on Jon’s trousers had to be. Before Martin could dare to voice the question he already knew the answer to, Jon’s hand was in his hair again.

“Bend over. Just—on the floor is fine. I need—” His hands were shaking. “We need to finish this. As planned.”

Martin shivered, and then shifted as best he could to bend over, helped along by Jon’s grip on his hair. His wing banged into the desk, and he cursed softly, but Jon didn’t seem to mind. Instead he gripped Martin’s shoulder to pull him further forward, enough to allow him to rest his cheek against the wooden floorboards, his arse lifted into the air.

And then Jon left him, though not for long, not even giving a warning before he brought the cane sharply down. The bright line of pain joined the duller aches, bringing him sharply back to here and now. Again the cane fell, and again, and Martin didn’t bother to count, didn’t care if Jon went further than he’d said, floating on this high edge ecstasy.

He only knew it was finished when he felt Jon undo the belt, helping him straighten his arms and climb shakily to his feet. Jon’s brow furrowed, and before Martin could ask, Jon was reaching out, trailing fingers down his cheek that came away wet. Oh. Tears. That did make sense.

“I’m so sorry, Martin. I didn’t—I was, I didn’t realize, and I just got caught up, and Christ, this is—” His wings rose more, spreading wider. Poised for an instinctive flight he couldn’t make here. And his eyes were wide with something Martin hadn’t seen from him before.

Guilt. And fear.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done it. Should’ve kept calm, and told Jon that it was fine, or accepted his apology and said next time, they could return to form. Jon would’ve accepted that, he thought. It was what he was hoping for. And Martin would’ve said it, because that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To do what Jon wanted.

But Jon had kissed him, and touched his wings, and Martin had never felt better in his life. Maybe the amazing sex had driven him a bit mad. But he didn’t care anymore. Because he wanted this one act of disobedience. He leaned in, and brought their lips together. Just briefly, before he pulled back, and gave Jon the answer they both desired.

“Do anything you want to me.”


End file.
